One of the Boys
by NeoNails
Summary: AU. "There's a problem. Dead body down by the Potomac." Murder. Deception. Stress. An ex in the CIA. Just another day in the life of Annie Walker.
1. The Assignment

Alright, so this is my next step at writing a mult-chaptered fic that hopefully won't end in tragedy. As I'm writing this, let it be known that I first started this on June 14th, 2011. And I have no fucking clue how long it'll be after I finish it.

(Based on my past history, I'm assuming a while.)

But, interestingly enough, this is my first foray into the world of AU. I tend to shy away from it, mostly because my mind is already flighty enough as it is and it doesn't need any additional encouragement to go off and chase butterflies or whatever it does for almost half a year.

But I've had this batting away in the dark recesses of my brain for a little while and I'm curious to see if I can finish it before disaster strikes again. Especially considering, if this goes well like I'm desperately hoping it will, I'll be using this as the green light to see if I can go through and write the novel that will involve a storyline (slightly—extremely slightly) like this. :)

And... here... we... go.

(Yes, I'm a nerd. We knew this.)

$4$

_I saw a spider, I didn't scream_  
>'<em>Cuz I can belch the alphabet,<br>Just double-dog dare me  
>And I chose guitar over ballet<br>And I take these suckers down 'cuz they just get in my way_

- "One of the Boys," by Katy Perry

* * *

><p>"Walker."<p>

Annie Walker turned around in her chair immediately at the sound of her boss' voice. She set her pen and pad of paper down and tried not to squirm too much. "Yes?" she asked calmly, subtly trying to straighten her charcoal grey pencil skirt.

"There's a problem—dead body down by the Potomac," Director Joan Campbell barked. She looked as cool and collected as ever in a simple blue sheath. She really had to envy her boss' ability to be both terrifying and awe-inspiring simultaneously.

Annie frowned slightly in confusion. True, she was an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but she wasn't a Special Agent and she never investigated murders. Over the last few months, she had hand in a few murders, but none actually involved dealing with the actual bodies—hell, they barely let her leave the office most days.

"Why do you need me?" she asked and stood up from her desk quickly, mostly out of nerves. She wasn't afraid of going out in the field, per se, she was mostly afraid of _why_ they needed her out in the field.

Especially when Joan continued to look so angry. "Unfortunately, a high-ranking diplomat from Pakistan was murdered," she explained, her tone clipped and almost emotionless, if not for that underlying tremor that belied her frustration. "He was supposed to be our key to establishing slightly better relations with Pakistan. The Secretary of State specifically requested that we investigate his death. Unfortunately, some jogger found him early this morning and decided to snap some pictures and send it to the _Post_. Now there are press swarming the place and I need someone to placate them until we get down to the bottom of this political nightmare."

Annie blinked owlishly at her but nodded. It was no secret that, despite being the director of the FBI's DC division, Joan extremely disliked politics, especially if they got in the way of completing her agents' jobs. Annie understood the aggravation, and she knew better than to argue about politics or assignments.

"You'll go with Special Agent Rossabi and Special Agent Schwimmer. They'll investigate the murder, you'll keep the press at bay. Understood?"

Annie nodded curtly. Looked like she was going to be a field agent for the day.

$4$

Pay attention, folks! My ANs are usually filled like blather (well, they still are...) but this is actually important. This is my next attempt at a multi-chaptered story, but it's not technically new. As you can read in the paragraphs above, this was started several weeks ago, and I've been holding out because I wanted to get as far ahead of it as humanly possible before I caved and posted it for all of you to read. At the moment, I'm halfway through Chapter 9, and I'm thinking there will probably be about 5 chapters at most left to go. So here's the deal (that I made with myself because I'm a lunatic): I'm posting this first chapter now, but I won't post the second until I'm completely finished with the story. At the current rate I've been writing, that means it shouldn't be more than a week, two at maximum.

Well, I hope.


	2. The Release

Just a quick reminder guys, this is an **AU** (as in Alternate Universe fic)! Please keep that in mind as you read, thanks. :)

I'm thinking I'll try to keep the chapters short and concise. Probably longer than the first chapter, but around 1,000 words or so because I can knock that out quickly and move on to the next chapter. I think it's my special way of tricking my brain that I'm not doing anything different from my usual writing and hopefully avoid losing inspiration.

Oh, and once (a while ago) **Whoaa Kayy** used this song in one of her oneshots a while back, appropriately titled _Annie_. Safetysuit actually performed at my college a little over a year ago, and I must say this is one of my favorite songs from them.

$4$

_Annie, don't be shy here  
>Annie, don't just lie here<br>Looks don't make the world go 'round  
>But it comes around<em>

- "Annie," by Safetysuit

* * *

><p>"—and unfortunately, we cannot reveal any more information until the body has been investigated further. When we have new information, we will release it to you. Thank you. Any questions?" Annie finished up her press release, staring out pleasantly at the sea of eager reporters, cameramen, and photographers ready to shout out more questions. She had written the press release in the twenty minute drive to the crime scene, grateful for the bout of traffic and two red lights that allowed her to read over it for any errors as she glanced at the manila file containing all the information they'd collected thus far for what had to be the 50th time.<p>

Joan wasn't exaggerating when she said the press was swarming the crime scene. There had to be at least two dozen individual crews, all representing different syndicates, some local, some regional, and a few national. This was going to be all over the 5 o'clock news, with her face connected directly with the press release and, by extension, the entire FBI.

That wasn't too daunting or anything.

She hadn't been chosen to give the press release by accident; she was on a first name basis with a lot of the reporters in the crowd, but even more than that Joan needed someone she trusted. It didn't hurt that Annie was young and pretty and blonde, too—there was a reason so many women that looked just like her went into broadcast journalism instead of press release work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Typically, Joan left her alone. Annie rarely went out in the field to actually present the press releases. It was more common for her to write them, and then some higher ranking Fed to present the report to the crowd. She was more comfortable with it that way.

Annie let the reporter from the _Post_ (and the same newspaper that created this mess in the first place) ask the first question. She knew him vaguely—his name was Tom Schmidt and he had been lobbying for her phone number since they were first introduced her second day at work. At the time, he had been harassing Rossabi for more information about a known drug dealer they were investigating for possibly smuggling arms shipments between the US and Africa. Rather than watch it turn into a brawl, she stepped in and kept Rossabi from decking Schmidt (like she knew he wanted to).

"Miss Walker—" She barely stopped herself from frowning. She was 28 and an agent for the FBI, for God's sake—a _Ms._, not a frigging _Miss_. "—what is your reaction to the recent allegations that Hashim Taya was actually murdered by a hit ordered by the CIA?"

Annie's carefully arranged composure under the lenses of all the cameras broke. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and a small smirk twisted her lips. _A hit ordered by the CIA? Really?_ "Well, Mr. Schmidt," she replied slowly, unable to believe any journalist would take some cockamamie story like that seriously. "My reaction would be that I would have to wonder what you put in your coffee this morning to think that's a plausible theory."

At the derisive snickering from the other journalists, Schmidt's face colored. She took that time to address the rest of the group, "Allow me to assure everyone here, that while the FBI in no way speaks for the CIA or any of their people, no undercover, secretive, black ops mission was created for the purpose of assassinating Hashim Taya. As previously stated, we are investigating all leads that might lead to Mr. Taya's murderer, but that does not include investigating absurd conspiracies."

Yet again, more muted chuckles. Annie smiled a little wider—good, Schmidt was put in his place and the rest of the crowd was convinced (for once) and (temporarily) placated that the FBI knew what they were doing—and continued asking for questions.

* * *

><p>The crowd of reporters had mostly dispersed two and a half hours later, but she was still standing off by the sidelines, making sure no one (particularly no one with a camera) went anywhere near the body. And for the last two and a half hours, no one had.<p>

Until two men walked up to the taped off yellow and black plastic with what looked like every intention of crossing it. Except neither were FBI agents.

"Excuse me!" Annie called out, raising her arm to get their attention and nearly sprinting in her stilettos to reach them. Only one of the men looked over at her. He had dark, toffee-colored skin and wavy black hair and looked pretty cute in a clearly professionally tailored suit. "You're not allowed to come back here."

Tall, Dark, and Handsome smiled charmingly. The other man, as pale as Charming was dark, stood next him, holding onto his elbow. Odd, but then she noticed his eyes seemed far away and he was holding a collapsible cane. "I'm sorry, we were just taking a walk," Charming explained, grinning even wider and flash a set of even, white teeth that would make any orthodontist proud. "I didn't realize they were roping off the area today. What happened?"

A little breathless (from the run, not from his smile—she wasn't 16 anymore), Annie smiled back. "I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to explain that. If you don't mind, the agent over there will be able to direct you around the cordoned off area."

"Oh, sure," Charming replied beguilingly. "No one got hurt, did they? Is that why you have the tape up?"

He sounded too earnest and eager, and if her flag hadn't already been up from the beginning, it would have been doing the Texas two-step right about now. Even his blind buddy looked over at Charming with disbelief written all over his face. He was also badly attempting to hide his smile, one that looked like it might even be cuter than Charming's.

"Everything alright here, Walker?"

Annie turned around, watching as Rossabi and their team leader, Special Agent Schwimmer, walked towards her. So Charming's antics had attracted more than just her attention. Good to know she wasn't completely inept out in the field.

Rossabi had got a funny look on his face, like the cat that swallowed the canary, and Annie was instantly curious about what he knew that she didn't. "Yeah, Walker, these two aren't bothering you, are they?"

Annie looked skeptically back at Charming and his cute blind friend. "No, I'm fine," she answered after studying the two of them for several seconds. "I'm just explaining to these two nice men that we've cordoned off the area until further notice and they can get around by following Agent Lyle. No problems."

"Yeah," Rossabi drawled, grinning widely. "Wouldn't want you guys getting lost." But the glint in his eyes said he hoped exactly that.

She felt her eyebrows rising a little. What was going on here that she missed? She was still a newbie, and rarely got out on the field, but it felt like there was something happening here that she should have recognized.

The blind guy seemed to take the hint. "Look, we didn't mean to cause any trouble," he said, beginning to take a step back. "We're just going to—"

"We were supposed to be at the press release," Charming cut him off sharply, and she didn't miss the way the blind guy shot him a dirty look in response. Apparently, there was no love lost between the two of them. "But we hit a lot of traffic and I guess missed our chance. We were hoping to get an interview." He said that last sentence to Scwimmer specifically.

"What do you think, Walker?" Schwimmer asked with an almost imperceptible smile. Her boss was usually buttoned-up to an extreme degree, so anything to make him amused had to something good.

Rossabi glanced over at Schwimmer and added, "They more paparazzi?"

Annie snickered and scrutinized Charming's wardrobe. "Uhh, considering he's wearing shoes that cost about the average journalist's monthly salary, I'd say no."

The smile she returned to Charming was brittle.

"We've already spoken to your director about this," Schwimmer said, almost sounding bored. "You have the information you need, and that's it. Go about your day, men."

Charming looked ready to argue, but his blind friend must have gripped his arm tighter or something because he glared at him for a split second but then turned back to Schwimmer and answered tightly, "Yes. Thank you, Special Agent Schwimmer."

As the men started to walk away, Annie couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "Are those guys Feds, too?" she whispered. "What director do they work under?"

Schwimmer frowned a little bit as he studied her—not like he was disappointed in her, more like he was annoyed about what they just had to deal with. "The director they work under isn't one of ours—it's the Director of Clandestine Services."

The size of Annie's eyes doubled.

"They're _CIA?_"


	3. The Introduction

Another really early post! Only this isn't _Kaleidoscope Hearts_… And I'm only uploading this early because this chapter's been finished for a month.

I know I'm screwing with Annie's nature as a character a lot here, but it is AU which means I can sort of change whatever the hell I want and run with it… and I'm seriously running with it.

But with the last two set-up chapters done, I can start fleshing out some things… oh, not everything, because there are still some people I need to introduce before we can get down to the nitty-gritty… like why Annie's so reluctant to do field work. ;)

$4$

'_Cuz you left me, police tape, chalk line  
>Tequila shots in the dark scene of the crime<br>Suburban livin' with the feelin' that I'm givin' up  
>Everything for you<em>

- "Damned If I Do Ya (Damned If I Don't)" by All Time Low

* * *

><p>"So that's what Scwimmer told you? Those guys were seriously CIA?"<p>

Annie shrugged helplessly. After the hellish day out on the field, she figured she deserved some way of winding down, so she called up one of her few female friends from the Bureau, Caitlyn McGuire, and they decided to spend the night at one of the local bars, Allen's. Annie ordered a pitcher of beer while Caitlyn busied herself drinking some fruity mixed drink. "I don't know," she admitted, not for the first time that night. "Schwimmer and Rossabi just said those guys worked for the Director of the Department of Clandestine Services. But the DCS is part of the CIA—well, the dark ops part that no one knows about—and I doubt he'd hire two guys off the street to sneak on to a federal crime scene."

Caitlyn's pretty pale eyes widened dramatically. "Wow," she breathed. "You gotta admit, that's _so cool_. You met CIA agents."

Annie shrugged again. She wasn't as impressed by the glamour of the CIA, to tell the truth. She didn't spend much time doing field work, but it didn't matter. In her first year working for the Bureau, she had earned more than enough experience to learn firsthand that all those smoke and mirrors came with a hefty price tag.

But Caitlyn hadn't picked up that jaded outlook on life yet. She probably never would—Caitlyn was a data analyst, and the quirky techie spent her time as far away from the field as humanly possible. That's how Annie would've preferred her job, but unfortunately being the mediator between the press and the FBI meant she was required to leave her little desk on occasion.

So, to a sweet girl like Caitlyn, hearing that her best friend ran into CIA agents while 'investigating' a murder—not that Annie had anything to do with the actual investigation part—had to sound pretty cool.

Must be nice to still think like that.

"You know what I heard from the other tech guys?" Caitlyn asked, lowering her voice and surreptitiously looking over both shoulders. "They told me that this is a _spook_ bar. You know, like those CIA guys? Oh my God, you could run into them again!"

This was the first she had heard of it. Annie's stomach plummeted to her Louboutin heels at the thought. Immediately, she did a quick, frantic scan of the crowd—but no. Of course not. He wouldn't be here, in this crowded bar in D.C. He was probably in Africa or Bosnia or somewhere like that, making some other woman's life miserable.

Hiding her nerves as much as possible, Annie plastered on a smile. "Well, at least then we already know they're all liars."

Caitlyn snickered into her drink. "Oh, I like you," she said pleasantly. "You're funny."

Annie grinned back. "I like you, too, Cait."

"Caitlyn!"

Both women looked up to see Caitlyn's boyfriend of two months, Stu Heatherton, wading through the hectic, post-work hour crowd and towards their table. Annie smiled. Stu was a really nice guy—some kind of accountant, computer geek person for the Smithsonian—and clearly adored Caitlyn. They met at Allen's, when she had accidentally spilled her Cosmo on him (which somehow ended in a conversation about Mac vs. PC and something called Lynx or Linux—yeah, Annie didn't get it).

"Hey, Annie," he said, always cheerful and friendly. She smiled back and took a sip of her beer.

And then promptly started choking on it.

"Annie, are you okay?" Caitlyn asked, alarmed. She put her hand on her friend's arm as Annie hastily drank some more beer and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Annie nodded back shakily, not trusting herself to speak as she kept her eyes locked stonily on the guy standing right behind Stu.

Apparently satisfied that her friend was not, in fact, dying, Caitlyn turned back to Stu with gooey, love-filled eyes. Until she spotted that fucking guy behind Stu. "Oh, Auggie! It's so great to see you again!"

Annie narrowed her eyes sharply. _Auggie?_ What the hell kind of name was Auggie? Was that even his real name? No, probably not. No one would name their kid Auggie. He probably didn't even remember his real name. Too busy being a CIA agent. Was he really blind? Most importantly, _how the hell did he know Stu?_

"I would say the same, but, you know," his grin was infectious and well-meaning as he gestured to his eyes with his hand—the same hand holding the very same collapsible white cane as earlier this morning. "It'd be a lie."

When Caitlyn glanced back at her she tried to compose her features like she _hadn't_ just been glowering at the blind guy. "I almost forgot! I'm so sorry, Annie," she apologized, putting her hand over Annie's and giving a quick squeeze. "This is Stu's boss, Auggie Anderson. He's the head of the Smithsonian's accounting department."

Somehow, just barely, she refrained from saying what wanted so desperately to burst from her lips—something that sounded a lot like _"The hell he is"_—and grinned widely. "That's so great," she gushed, "I'm Annie Walker. It's nice to meet you."

Auggie stuck out his hand to shake, and she had no other choice but to reciprocate. She pointedly ignored his warm, slightly calloused skin and his firm grip—he was a CIA man, after all.

And, apparently, so was Caitlyn's boyfriend.

$4$

Oh, and for anyone observant enough to notice, I totally ripped off Stu's last name from **Beth – Geek Chick**. So credit goes to her. IMDB has no last name for him, and I didn't feel like making up a last name that I'm going to forget in two days, anyway.

I'm also amusing myself making little references to quotes I like from past episodes into this AU fic. Yes, I'm such a dork but it makes me giggle. :D


	4. The Altercation

I'm actually managing to knock these chapters out at a steady rate, but I know better than to post anything right now. At the moment, It's June 16th, and I've got three chapters written. Not too shabby, and hopefully I can keep this up until I finish it however many odd chapters later (I never know how many chapters it'll be—I'm abysmally bad at planning ahead, remember?).

Onto the action!

$4$

_Not like I need to depend upon anyone  
>Since I can see the lack of me to be here at all<br>One more anthem for the know-it-all  
>I won't be standin' up for long, I better learn how to crawl<br>Learn how to crawl_

- "Flat on the Floor," by Nickelback

* * *

><p>Despite the fact that Annie officially did not trust either man farther than she could throw them, the night actually passed by pleasantly. Auggie was pretty funny—in a dry, sarcastic kind of way. Stu made jokes about how Auggie was terrifying and a total slave driver but when they were done making fun of one another she could tell there was nothing but respect and trust between the two of them.<p>

Kind of ironic, considering where they worked.

Annie didn't know why, precisely, she hadn't said anything to Caitlyn yet about her boyfriend's real job. She would bet her next paycheck that Auggie knew precisely who she was—probably had since this morning—and, by default, that meant Stu had to know who she was as well. Hell, the only reason why Auggie went out with Stu was probably because he knew she and Caitlyn would be there.

Except that Auggie was already acquainted with Caitlyn, and Stu seemed genuinely surprised that Annie was there—she didn't go out too much on work nights. So maybe she was getting a teensy bit ahead of herself.

But that didn't mean she was going to trust Auggie or his nice smile for a second.

He really was blind. Which sort of made sense when she was done acting like an overreacting idiot. And he was impressively charming for a blind guy—which was a borderline offensive statement she was never speaking aloud—but that might have had something to do with being blinded just a few years ago. He made some sort of offhanded comment about it that lead her to believe he had earned his wound in combat.

Which would mean he was a solider. Interesting.

Considering, the night had almost passed _too_ well.

A couple of surprisingly entertaining hours later, Annie said her goodbyes and headed back to her bright red little VW, humming a random tune as she fished out her keys from her purse. She wasn't _drunk_ yet, but this was the most tipsy she had been in some time. Luckily, her apartment was only down the street.

Normally, she didn't like to get drunk during the workweek, and on weekends she spent most of her time with either her sister Danielle and her kids or the occasional shopping run with Caitlyn.

Her life was a tad boring, but it was better than nothing.

And that was what she had been thinking—right up until something reached out of the darkness and covered her mouth and nose.

Annie let out a panicked noise, adrenaline and fight-or-flight kicking in immediately. She trained in the gym regularly, and went above and beyond the FBI-regulated self-defense and combat courses. She was a single woman living in D.C., and after what happened the last time, she wasn't taking any chances.

She latched on to her assailant's wrists, digging her nails into the skin not covered by his glove. Her other arm shot up and out, her elbow colliding heavily with the side of his head. Using his temporary disorientation, she moved quickly and slammed her elbow into his sternum repeatedly until he let go.

Annie stumbled back from him. She had dropped her purse in the ensuing melee, and there was the pepper spray she kept in her front pocket. Better than nothing.

She dropped down to her knees, fumbling for the cylinder, when she heard something behind her crackle. She turned around slowly, eyes wide. There wasn't one assailant—there were two. _Rookie mistake_, she berated herself as she scrambled and fell backwards on her ass.

He was extremely tall but skinny, and wore a black ski mask with a hoodie and jeans, but she didn't notice any of that. Her eyes were locked on the clunky taser, a sharp white-blue current of electricity jumping between the two metal prongs. Before he could move closer, she lashed out instinctively again.

But then two things happened at once. She kicked, her stiletto hitting his knee and creating a satisfactory crunch, just as a body flew out of nowhere, tackling the same assailant to the ground.

"Annie!"

She stood up shakily, stumbling only a little in her high heels. Her eyes were huge, she was breathing heavily, and the adrenaline was making her brain spin. What the hell had happened?

"Ohmigod, Annie!" Caitlyn came out of nowhere and tackle-hugged her best friend. Since Caitlyn wasn't exactly a size 2, it took what was left of Annie's energy to keep them both upright. "What happened? We were heading to our cars and then Stu thought he saw those guys attacking someone and we ran over and it was _you_ they were attacking and then Auggie jumped that guy and _oh my God, are you okay?_"

Annie was truthfully too stunned too speak—also, how did Caitlyn talk that fast?

_Was_ she okay? Well, nothing seemed to be broken or badly injured, near as she could tell—she knew from experience it would be some time before her adrenaline would die down and anything that was hurt would start to feel pain. And _Auggie_ had helped her? Sure enough, that was him pulling her attacker her to his knees. The first one was still on the ground, groaning. Good, he ought to be in pain.

Yet again, there were so many thoughts swirling around her brain she didn't know where to begin. Auggie could fight without being able to see?

"I think you should call your boss," Stu suggested from over Caitlyn's shoulder. Annie narrowed her eyes slightly, weighing options. He was right. Even if those two had just been after her money, Joan and the rest of the department would need to know and do a threat assessment. Which meant a lovely shit ton of paperwork—and possibly some psych evals and mandatory meetings and probably the rest of the team walking on eggshells around her—to look forward to for the next two weeks.

Fuck.

"Yeah, Director Campbell would know what to do," Caitlyn said, looking back at him lovingly. Caitlyn was in the tech division, so she had nearly no direct contact with Joan, but simultaneously feared and respected her just as much as everyone else in the department. "I'll go call her now." She pulled away slightly from Annie and gave her an once-over. "Are you going to be okay for five minutes? I just need to call Director Campbell and tell her what happened."

Annie smiled and nodded, still unable to talk. As Caitlyn skittered away, she looked back at Auggie. He and Stu were busy tying up her attackers and she took a shocking moment to appreciate the muscles peeking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt. Did she have a concussion?

Reality was setting in again and she was reminded of the big picture. The Feds would be coming as soon as Caitlyn got off the phone with Joan, and she wondered if Stu and Auggie would stick around. Stu would probably have to—otherwise he'd have some awkward questions to answer from Caitlyn—but she wouldn't be surprised if Auggie decided to slip away. What she needed to do was report them both to Joan as CIA first thing tomorrow morning.

"I know you both are CIA," she announced, startling both herself and the two of them. She had no clue where this was coming from. "And if you're smart I wouldn't say anything once the FBI comes around, unless you want to be brought in for questioning."

As they stared at her in unrestrained astonishment—and was that a little amusement on Auggie's face?—she tamped down the burble of anxiety that was growing in her chest.

Because, seriously, what the hell was wrong with her today?

$4$

I know this is pretty weird for you guys—particularly the whole-Annie's-not-being-badass-enough thing that's even bothering me, but like always, good things come in time—but we're finally getting into the thick of things. Annie's kicking a little ass, Auggie's helping out, and Stu's being a nice guy… oh, and Annie's just outed them as spooks. Yeah, let's see how well that goes over. ;)

So be brutally honest. What do you think so far?


	5. The Confrontation

Because I'm keeping a mental journal of how long it's taking me to write everything, today is June 21st. I've got 5 chapters officially written, which tends to be (for whatever unknown reason) the number where my inspiration dies and I no longer want to write anything more about the fic. Hopefully, that won't happen. I'm really hopeful about this story.

So far, I have avoided posting this on , which I'll be holding off on doing about as long as humanly possible until this is finished/basically finished. Hopefully then I can finish this without anyone getting discouraged by my inability to complete anything. :D

$4$

_I'm a loner, I'm loser  
>I'm a winner—in my mind<br>I'm a bad one, I'm a good one  
>I'm a sick one—with a smile<em>

- "Stupid Girl," by Cold

* * *

><p>When Joan stepped out of the nondescript black SUV along with Rossabi, Schwimmer, and two other agents, Annie's worst fears were confirmed. She knew all along her attackers couldn't just be after her wallet, but she refused to admit that suspicion until proven otherwise. No use making a mountain out of a molehill and all that.<p>

It took four hours to sort out everything. The two jackasses were immediately hauled in by the agents Annie didn't recognize, and after that was questioning. And questioning. And some more questioning.

Her voice was hoarse by the time she repeated the events of the attack for the seventh time. All the while, Caitlyn, Stu, and Auggie had been giving their own story of events. When they weren't doing that, they were standing by her side.

Stu and Auggie were exceptionally quiet when they weren't being questioned, and on some level she understood why. Their chat, while brief, had not been a particularly enjoyable.

"I think that's enough," Joan interjected just as yet another Fed—more had arrived after they apprehended her assailants—began to question her once more. "Walker needs a good night's sleep. So does McGuire for that matter. We have all the information we need for the night, and you two can write up your reports tomorrow morning."

Looking away from the agent, she turned her piercing blue eyes on the two women. "Got it?" Joan repeated, arching her eyebrows slightly.

Both Annie and Caitlyn nodded on cue, causing Joan to smile slightly. Joan always appreciated it when her agents listened to what she had to say and followed orders.

But once the dust settled, she didn't mind it so much when Annie went off the rails that one time—

Annie put the brakes on that thought, her heart constricting painfully in her chest at the memory. No, she was past that. No more childish rebellions—she did press releases. There was no wiggle room in the realm of press releases.

"Do you mind if I take Caitlyn home?" Stu asked Joan politely. Annie smiled a little wider—he may have been CIA, but he was still genuinely respectful. She couldn't knock that.

Caitlyn looked up at him happily, then back at Joan, waiting for the older woman's blessing. At Joan's slight nod, Caitlyn grinned and quickly pulled Annie into a tight hug. "Try not to nearly get killed again," the bottle blonde instructed seriously. "I'll see you tomorrow for lunch."

Annie grinned. "Have a good night," she replied, glancing back at Stu in amusement.

Caitlyn's face colored in response but she didn't say anything else—just grabbed Stu's arm and pulled him away from the dwindling crowd and into the night.

As they walked away, she watched with a certain amount of detachment as Auggie began to walk away as well—where to, she had no idea, it wasn't like he could drive, right?—but before he could get more than a foot away, Joan's thin arm shot out and caught him by the shoulder. "Where the hell do you think you're going, Anderson?" she asked coldly.

Annie felt her jaw drop of its own accord. Joan knew Auggie's last name? Did Joan _know_ Auggie?

For his part, he managed a pretty dirty glare considering he couldn't actually see Joan. "What, you think I don't know your name?" Joan added, and if Annie didn't know any better, she would say the tone was almost mocking. "I know your boss. Did he really think you two idiots would be able to sneak onto my active crime scene without any of my people noticing?"

Annie blinked, frozen in a stupor. Whoa. Joan knew the Director of Clandestine Services? When she thought about it, it wasn't _that_ shocking—even though Joan chose to stay very active and run her team personally as opposed to delegating it to someone else, she was still a high ranking member of the FBI. Even still, it never occurred to Annie that that rank would allow Joan to become personal with a member of the CIA.

"Director Campbell," Auggie said, inclining his head, his smile tight and tense. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Joan said easily, sounding comically bored and never bothering to loosen her grip on his shoulder. "Just like Arthur has no idea what he's talking about either. But you know what, it's late and I frankly don't care about departmental pissing contests at the moment. I understand that Stuart Heatherton is dating Caitlyn McGuire and seems to genuinely care about her. And I'll go out on a limb and say you only went out to Allen's tonight to join him and his girlfriend for beers, and not to scope out my damned talented agent for any weaknesses."

For a moment, Annie felt her chest fill with pride—Joan thought she was a damned talented agent. That was the best compliment to ever fall from her boss' lips, and it felt like winning a Nobel Peace prize and an Olympic medal in the same day.

Auggie's face contorted into contempt and more than a little rage but before he could reply, Joan continued on. "But you listen to me right now—if I find out later on the line that _any_ of you are in any way investigating, harassing, or intimidating any of my people—_especially Walker_—I will kick your ass from here to next Thursday before you can whistle Dixie. Got it, Anderson?"

For one long, terrifying second, Annie was positive he was going to argue with Joan—in which case she was jumping over the car and ducking behind those bushes. But then he seemed to reconsider his decision, set his jaw, and nodded curtly. "I understand," he replied. "But I'd like to remind you that I'm only in charge of a handful of people—and I can't be held responsible for something someone like Jai might do."

_Jay?_ Annie thought, keeping her features blank even as her mind started working. _Who was Jay? Was he another CIA agent? Did Joan know him, too?_

Joan let out a soft huff of air and smirked like he had said something funny. Maybe she did know that guy. "Have a good night, Anderson," she said, letting go of his shoulder and patting it once. "Tell Arthur I said hello."

Auggie's mouth quirked into one of those cocky smirks Annie was starting to learn was his signature or something. "I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that."

As he started to leave, he unfolded his cane and tilted his head towards her for the first time since the Feds arrived and their conversation ended. "'Night, Annie," he said, his smile almost genuine.

"'Night," she replied quietly, her mind spinning in too many places at once. Wine and Feds did not mix well at this hour.

* * *

><p>It took another hour for Annie to finally get back home. There were three messages on her answering machine—all from Danielle, no doubt—and she was too tired to check any of them. She pulled her hair out of the sloppy ponytail it had been in for the last six hours and poured herself a glass of water. She would shower and then sleep for as long as her body would allow her before her alarm went off. Hopefully she wouldn't have any nightmares tonight.<p>

As she sipped her water over her kitchen sink and stared out at the inky black sky through her window, her thoughts drifted, returning back to her earlier conversation.

"_I know you're both CIA. And if you're smart I wouldn't say anything once the FBI comes around, unless you want to be brought in for questioning."_

_They both stared at her in shock for what had to be at least thirty seconds. Impressively, Stu was the first one to recover. "Annie," he began slowly, like he didn't want to scare her. "We're not—neither of us are CIA a—"_

_He didn't get out the rest of what he was planning on saying, because Auggie straightened, standing somehow even taller than before, and snapped, "So? What does that matter? I believe we just helped you."_

_Annie's wide brown eyes hardened as she stood up shakily, toeing off her stilettos and ignoring the way the gravel on the asphalt bit into the soles of her feet. "Under normal circumstances, it _wouldn't_ matter. But the fact is, one of you is dating my _friend_ and I'm not all that keen to see her date a spook."_

_Stu winced. "I'm sorry," he apologized, and sounded actually remorseful. "I didn't know she worked for you guys until our first date, but by then—"_

"_Caitlyn's a big girl. She can make her own decisions," Auggie pointed out, cutting off his friend again. He stepped towards her, somehow managing to avoid the unconscious assailant by his feet. "If she wants to get involved with Stu she has every right to."_

_Annie let out a snort and walked up to him. "Oh, she can get involved alright—in a relationship that with a man she barely knows anything about. Stu is a sweetheart, I'm not arguing that. But when she finds out he's not who he says he is—and she _will_, because she didn't get into the Federal Bureau of Investigation for being a dumbass—it's not going to matter if he's fucking Mother Theresa. He lied to her, and that's all she's going to see."_

"_You sound a little too bitter for this not be personal," he replied, his voice low._

_She let out a laugh at his very obvious deflection, cold, hard, and callous. She _was_ bitter, but she wasn't going to let him know that. She wasn't going to let anyone know that. "Oh, you want a change in subject? Alright, CIA boy, how 'bout you?"_

_He frowned even heavier than before, crossing strong arms over his chest. "What about me what?"_

"_What about you," she repeated, purposely goading him. "You're a CIA agent. You must have had a girlfriend at some point, right?"_

_She was standing too close to him, but she was so blinded by her own anger to even bother being uncomfortable. She studied his face intently, marveling at his absolutely perfect poker face. And then she saw it. A twitch, right by the right side of his mouth. If she hadn't been standing so close, watching him so attentively, she would've missed it._

"_Ah," she said knowingly, smirking slightly with the knowledge that she caught him. "So you _did_ have a girlfriend. Tell the class, how did it end when she found out you were CIA? She refuse to speak to you? Or wait, did you never tell her in the first place—just disappear, because that's what your superiors told you—"_

"_I don't know what you're talking about," he cut her off, too fast for it not to have gotten under his skin._

_Annie's eyebrows arched. She should've known he was just like Ben. Weren't they all? "Leaving her for the job," she said with a nod. "Classy stuff."_

_Heavy silence settled between the two of them._

"_Look, honestly, we understand why you're so angry," Stu finally replied, rushing to fill in the tension. "But tonight, this wasn't about CIA stuff. Honest. You were being attacked, and Auggie stopped him. He was only here because I dragged him along. I'm not doing any of this to hurt you or Caitlyn. Especially not Caitlyn."_

_Annie's face was barely two inches from Auggie's. She was pretty sure if she exhaled their chests would touch. But she didn't focus on him. She looked over his broad shoulder, at Stu standing there, genuinely remorseful. Even if Auggie turned into another Ben, she liked Stu. He was a good guy._

"_I do believe you," she responded directly to Stu, and for the first time all night she both sounded and felt tired. Glancing back at Auggie, she added, "But the jury's still out on you."_

_$4$_

Whew! This chapter kind of got away from me, in case you can't tell. But I really needed to do the flashback to their conversation (I know, I normally hate reading/writing anything in italics, but this was my best solution at the moment) and I absolutely wasn't pushing it off to the next chapter, mostly because something else needs to happen first thing that I'm not telling you guys about. ;)

I know I've written Annie and Auggie butting heads way more than you would expect the two of them to react, but I swear this is done with a purpose. Mostly because this way they're hashing out all their problems right from the beginning (essentially, a polar opposite from the show—being besties and _then_ learning about/meeting each other's respective demons), plus it allows me to take some more time with introducing the Ben Thing into the picture.

In fact, as a couple spoilers for you guys, next chapter will actually be (mostly) about the Ben Thing. This was mainly the proper build-up I needed to address Annie's issues with going out on the field, as well as dealing with her new CIA buddies. Expect lots more angst, something I hardly ever write but can't seem to get rid of in this story.

And yes, I purposely spelled Jai wrong in Annie's thoughts. No one automatically assumes that's how you spell Jai—I didn't until I Wikipedia'd the show when it first came out. ;)

Hope you guys liked it!


	6. The Resolve

Oh, I do this periodically for those of you who aren't used to my wacky writing style. This is me shamelessly promoting the song that I've included in this chapter. If you're interested, listen to the whole song, but I'm telling you right now this is word-for-word my opinion of Annie's relationship with Ben (or any relationship that involves one side repeatedly getting the raw end of the deal). I actually had some difficulty just picking out one section of lyrics, when really I could pick any line and it would still apply.

Plus, it's an awesome song. ;)

$4$

_It's like I'm lost  
>It's like I'm giving up slowly<br>It's like you're a ghost that's haunting me  
>Leave me alone<em>

- "Addicted," by Kelly Clarkson

* * *

><p>"<em>Annie, I'm sorry, I never meant—"<em>

"_To lie to me? To hide everything from me? To _use_ me to get information out of my superiors?"_

"…_Yes, but I never meant to—by the time I got to know you, I didn't want to hurt y—"_

"_Oh, save it, Ben," she snarled, shoving his hands off her shoulders. "It doesn't matter what you want anymore. Which is a shame, because any opportunity you might've had to get information out of me went out the window approximately fifteen minutes ago."_

"_Annie, you're not being fair," he began again, and stepped closer to her. Her palm itched for her to slap him, but she wasn't going to stoop to his level._

"_You know what? I'm done being fair," she growled. "You _lied_ to me. You're CIA. For all I know, Ben Mercer isn't even your real name. Whoever you are, get the fuck out of my face. _Now_."_

"_Annie, you can't do this. You're in danger—"_

"_Yeah, yeah, so I've heard," she replied flippantly, stepping around him. "But I'm not alone. I'm a member of the FBI. I don't need some lying spook to protect me from the big bag monsters."_

_Ben turned around to face her, his face a mask of impatience and anger. "You're being a child."_

"_I'll live."_

_After several tense seconds, he stormed out the door. Barely a second later, explosions sounded, and the rage pumping through her veins was replaced with something different—fear._

_She took off running, ducking behind her couch moments before the door exploded open. Her eyes were squeezed tight, and she tried not to breathe in the noxious fumes—someone had let off a smoke bomb._

"_Annie!"_

_She looked up, eyes doubling. Auggie? What was he doing here? "Annie, take my hand!"_

_She did, and he propelled her forward, just narrowly missing as another bomb—no, not bomb, just a bigass semi-automatic—turned her brand new couch into wood shavings. She tried to cover her face and head as much as she could, but it didn't matter. There were more gunshots, and suddenly her side was on fire and she was falling to the ground._

_He stayed with her, ignoring the chaos, his hand cupping the side of her face. "You're going to be okay, Annie. They're coming, you're going to be okay…"_

Annie shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat, her body tangled up in damp bedding. She ran her fingers through her hair, ignoring how all her limbs were shaking and her heart was going a mile a minute. She needed to calm down, regulate her breathing, and then she could go back to sleep.

She hazarded a glance at the clock. Barely an hour left before she had to get up and go to work. Hardly enough time to warrant going back to sleep.

But that meant she would've only gotten three hours of sleep. But then, if she fell back asleep she would risk sleeping deeply, starting up her REM cycle, and having another nightmare.

Yup. Just another morning in Annie's self-made hell.

She frowned, cradling her head in her hands. That was a new twist on the dream, though. Up until tonight, it was always the same—the last fight she had with Ben, the argument about the CIA, him storming out, and then gunfire. In reality, those two events happened separate of one another. Ben left on a Monday, and four and a half days later the Armenian mob swarmed her house with every intention of kidnapping her for leverage against Ben—or, if that didn't work out, just plain old killing her.

Before they could do either, however, the Feds arrived, taking out all of the gunmen. That was the first night she met Rossabi, right after one of the Armenian's bullets had took out a chunk of her waist. It had narrowly missed hitting any organs, but the other Feds had rushed her to the hospital just to be on the safe side. She needed thirteen stitches to patch up her side, and it took several weeks of recovery.

She'd been having that dream at least four or five nights a week since then. It had never changed before, but maybe it never had reason to change until now.

She saw Auggie. He was trying to protect her, pull her out of a dangerous situation. It felt… familiar. Comfortable, even. Like she should trust him, instinctively.

Annie frowned again, shaking her head like she could loosen her thoughts. She was being silly. She didn't know the first thing about Auggie, other than his last name and his job. She had no reason to trust him any more or less than Ben.

"_Annie, you're not being fair."_

She pulled her legs to her chest, dropping her head on her knees. Her hair, still dark and wet from the shower, tumbled around her shoulders. She was a woman burned, and no amount of hiding or deskwork was going to hide that scar.

Almost unconsciously, her right hand moved down, gently peeling back her heather gray cami and exposing the skin there. It stretched about five inches long and an inch wide, the skin marred and puckered from the sutures. She was scarred, physically and emotionally, and it was no one's fault but herself.

Scars didn't heal—they faded, with time. Years and years from now, the scar on her waist would be invisible. Similarly, the scars on her heart would disappear.

But she didn't have to keep moping to herself. She could take a stand, become even more independent, and move the hell on from Ben.

And then her scars would finally start to fade.

$4$

The ending was a little meh, but I can deal with it. Probably because I don't normally write dreams but this was the best solution for what I was going for. I wasn't sure where I wanted to end it, but finally I worked it out and figured here is better than nothing.

I'm so angsty with this stuff, but at least I got the Ben Thing out of the way. Finally.


	7. The Agreement

Okay, this chapter is obscenely long compared to everything else thus far, but I do believe there is an important reason for this (don't all of you look at me like that, read the chapter and you'll see).

To date, it's June 23rd, and I will tell you my fingers are itching to start posting this on because I desperately want to see what you guys have to say about this latest crazytrain I've embarked on. But, I know the second I start posting I will magically lose the drive to finish this monster, and goddammit, I've made it past the Chapter 5 Mark of Doom, it can't die now.

So I'm writing this with the prayer that Future Me won't post this online in the next couple days… _Do you hear that? I said no posting until it's finished!_

…Alright, I'm going to go back to writing and stop acting like a schizophrenic…

$4$

_So scared of breakin' it, but you won't let it bend  
>I wrote two hundred letters that I will never send<br>Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem  
>You'd rather cover up, I'd rather let them bleed<em>

- "Misery," by Maroon 5

* * *

><p>Annie walked down the hallway, adjusting her cream Coach slingbacks self-consciously one last time. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or it was real, but she felt like everyone was staring at her as she walked down the hallway. It wouldn't be that surprising—most of the people in her department were already well-acquainted with her goings on after Ben Mercer and the Armenians, and an attack outside Allen's, a known spook bar, was more than enough to warrant extra attention from even the most boring and staid agents.<p>

"Ohmigod. Annie!"

Turning around so sharply on her heel she nearly stumbled out of her shoes, she watched as Caitlyn sprinted down the hallway. With every harried step she took, her flip-flops slapped loudly against the freshly polished floor. Annie grinned to herself. Okay, now no one was staring at her—and everyone was staring at Caitlyn.

Annie knew from experience that Caitlyn didn't actively try to stand out—but in a place like the FBI, and when you looked like her, it tended to happen. A lot. She had been a computer nerd for all of her life, and a good girl to boot. Like most people, college changed her, and her wardrobe, too. By the time she started working for the FBI, it had been become ingrained in her.

She never wore the sensible shoes required of the female agents—she stuck to flip-flops in bright colors and Chucks when she was 'dressing up.' Her work outfits almost always consisted of jeans or flowy skirts, and it was a very bad day if there wasn't bright, electric blue somewhere in her wardrobe.

In short, it was hard to look away.

Caitlyn didn't seem to notice everyone's stares as she grabbed Annie's arm. "Have you heard yet?" she said in a stage whisper.

Annie's eyebrows arched in confusion. "Cait, I just got here like five minutes ago," she explained quietly. "What am I supposed to have heard?"

Caitlyn kept walking, half dragging Annie along. "They brought Auggie in," she said, her light blue-green eyes wide and frantic.

"What?" Annie asked blankly, her whole body going numb. "Why is Auggie here? Who brought him in?" Shaking her head, she added, "When did this happen?"

"I don't know," Caitlyn replied frantically. "Maybe early this morning? Late last night? All I know is, I walked into the bullpen today to talk to Agent Schwimmer and there's Auggie, standing there chatting with Director Campbell and looking all hot and nerdy like he always does."

Annie wanted to argue about the "all hot and nerdy part," but she somehow managed to keep her tongue in check—until Caitlyn took one look at her face and said, "Oh, don't bother arguing. You know he's adorable. You're just being overprotective in case Stu's friends turn out to be jackasses. Don't argue about that part, either—I know what you're thinking. You were totally checking him out last night, in an is-he-going-to-hurt-my-best-friend kind of way. It's really sweet, but you know it would be also nice if you checked out a guy in the real sense of the word."

"Phrase," Annie autocorrected, blinking down at her friend as if she was an alien that had beamed down in front of her. Because, seriously, did Caitlyn spill some LSD in her cereal this morning?

"Whatever," Caitlyn replied airily, throwing her free hand up in impatience. She was still pulling Annie along, and the two of them were headed straight for the bullpen. "You ought to be dating more. You know Danielle would agree with me, too."

Frowning, Annie rebutted, "Yeah, but Danielle's way of helping involves her introducing me to rejects that work at the World Bank. Are you going to do that to me, too? Because I can't take more than one in a year."

"Of course not. However, I wouldn't be against you making nice with Auggie…"

Annie's only response was a stern glare.

"I bet he's here because you got mugged last night," Caitlyn swiftly changed the subject. "I mean, why else would Director Campbell want to speak to him?"

Oh, Annie had a few ideas…

"Walker!"

Caitlyn immediately detached herself from Annie. Joan was headed straight for them, her face completely expressionless. Behind her, Rossabi, Schwimmer, and Auggie followed. There was no way this meant anything good. "I need to speak to you," Joan instructed, never once glancing at Caitlyn. She didn't add the word _alone_, but then her tone more than implied it.

"Got it," Annie replied, sending her best friend one last, retreating glance. Caitlyn had no idea why Auggie was there—that more than likely, this had everything to do with his _real_ day job and nothing to do with her almost getting mugged last night.

Joan turned on her heel, walking back towards her office. Auggie lagged a little farther behind, but when she saw something that looked like uncertainty cross his face, her hard façade melted a little. "Do you need a hand?" she said, keeping her voice low so no one could hear them.

Auggie's eyebrows furrowed. "Shouldn't you be busy trying to drive a stake through my heart?"

She smirked slightly at the sarcasm and replied just as drily, "Even if I do think you guys are the devil, I'm not a completely horrible human being. If you trip on something and faceplant, I don't want to have to feel guilty for laughing at your pathetic ass."

He grinned back, apparently satisfied with her response, and reached over, his hand bumping against her wrist. She stilled her movements, waiting as his fingers travelled up the length of her arm before settling right above her elbow. "Ray Charles ready to go," he quipped, leaning in closer to her and giving her a taste of his cologne—it would be easier to hate him if he didn't smell good.

"Stop trying to make me like you," she grit out, pointedly ignoring more stares from the other agents as they walked leisurely back to Joan's office. As much as she _so_ didn't want to deal with whatever Joan had to dish out, she really did not feel like being the center of attention in the fish bowl.

"I'm not trying to make you do anything," he countered easily, still grinning to himself. "If I did, I would probably be sporting a black eye by now. You don't seem like the type to take orders too well."

Annie huffed. "I take orders just fine," she argued. She did… most of the time. At least, she listened to almost everything Joan said. It was only when some of the pushy, misogynistic agents started barking assignments at her that certain things were forgotten.

"I'm the head of the Tech Ops Division in the CIA," Auggie replied. So that was what he did. He truly was a computer nerd. "I've seen your file."

She was genuinely surprised for a few seconds. How did he…? "That's illegal," she said, half growling. "You can't have access to an FBI agent's files."

"Ah, but you _can _when you work for the CIA's Tech Ops Division," he replied, grinning even wider than before. And damn him for making that smile look so friendly and charming. "C'mon, you didn't really expect us to not to a background check on you, right?"

Annie flushed. How deep was this background check of his? Did it say anything about her and Ben? About what happened with the Armenians? She wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

She was too happy when they walked through the door into Joan's office. If he knew anything—anything at all—about her and Ben, she didn't want to hear about it. She was much more content to ignore him and his stupid cologne and do whatever Joan needed of her for the day.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Joan lowered the blinds. Her office walls were almost entirely made up of glass—Annie thought that might have contributed to her "Ice Queen" nickname from some of the male agents—and turned on all of them. "What I tell all of you does not leave this room," she said, deadly serious.

Annie glanced at Auggie, who had dropped his grip on her arm but was still only a couple inches from her. Was he getting read in on an assignment? An _FBI_ assignment?

"As all of you know, Mr. Anderson over here is a member of the CIA," Joan began, crossing her lightly tanned arms over her chest. "Under normal circumstances, something like this would not be happening. But, unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances."

"The ambassador that was shot yesterday wasn't just attempting to bridge communication and international relations in Pakistan. Shortly before he died, we had intel leading us to believe he was leaking sensitive information—documents, e-mails, and conversations—to a known terrorist cell set up in southern France. That's where the CIA comes in."

"We've been on this sleeper cell's trail for the better part of two years," Auggie contributed, and she arched an eyebrow. He was giving them information. Not a common trait for most CIA agents. But then, the one she knew turned out to be the polar opposite of 'open.' "We even managed to infiltrate one of our guys. He's been deep undercover for six months now. We can't afford even the tiniest slip-up if we have any chance of getting him out alive."

Joan nodded encouragingly. "As a result, it's been decided that the most beneficial decision would be to work together." At the shocked looks on Rossabi and Annie's faces, she smiled briefly. "I understand that this may be difficult, but it is absolutely necessary. If we're careful, we can keep from blowing the agent's cover or having to pull him or her out of an active mission."

The three men all nodded, completely understanding. Annie understood, too, but it wasn't the mission itself that had her pausing. "Uhh, Joan?" she began, and then winced inwardly. You're a big girl, Walker. Use your big girl tone and try not to sound like such a feminine dumbass straight out of training. "I have one question." There. She sounded significantly more self-assured.

When Joan tilted her head, Annie took that as a sign to continue on. "I get what we're doing here and why we have to be careful—I don't want to get anyone killed, FBI, CIA, or civilian—but… why am I here?"

It was a relevant question. She shied away from fieldwork and spent her days behind a computer putting together speeches for other agents to recite to the press and making nice with journalists. She wasn't exactly a kickass Special Agent.

"You gave the press release yesterday," Joan said, her enunciation clear and concise, like the woman herself. "The men that attacked you last night were not run of the mill muggers. After questioning them we learned that they intended on kidnapping you and handing you over to the very same terrorist cell connected to Hashim Taya."

A bubble of panic started in her chest, and she could feel it started to double and rise. "Why?" she asked, plaintive. Did they know her? Did they know her family? Oh God, were Danielle and Michael in danger?

Joan must've recognized the fear and panic in her younger agent's eyes, because she swiftly shook her head no. "We have no reason to believe your family is in any immediate danger," she assured her. "The terrorists won't use someone to get to you—they're using you to get to someone else."

And with that statement, she knew.

"Annie—the terrorists are Armenian."

$4$

Yes, I'm aware I'm evil. Also—

"Writing is the socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."

- E.L. Doctorow

(Just thought you guys should know…)


	8. The Story

Yay! Drama! I absolutely hate it in my life (seriously, anyone who knows me personally can assure you of this fact) but it's so damned entertaining to write. Especially when it involves espionage and betrayal and general craziness.

Today's the 25th, and I must say I'm cranking these chapters out pretty efficiently. Hopefully this should be finished soon—not like tomorrow soon, but hopefully by the end of the week, maybe the week after that, depending.

And if I can actually accomplish that it will be absolutely _awesome_.

$4$

_Oh, you loved me because I'm fragile  
>But I thought that I was strong<br>But you touched me for a little while  
>And all my fragile strength is gone<em>

- "Gravity," by Sara Bareilles

* * *

><p>"It happened two years ago."<p>

"I had only been working for the FBI for about a year. I was still doing what I do now—press releases, making nice with journalists—but Joan wanted me out in the field periodically, not only to get to know the journalist better, but also in the case I ever decided to become a field agent or something else—and I went out to Massachusetts. There had been a string of murders, starting in D.C. and heading straight for Boston, and we suspected that they tied back to the Irish mob. While I was there, I met this guy. He said his name was Ben Mercer and told me he was a photojournalist. He had just come back from writing this piece in Sri Lanka, and I don't know… we clicked."

"We only knew each other for like a week but we spent as much time as humanly possible together. It was surreal; our own little bubble of bliss. Everything seemed so perfect. I had been there three weeks, and then it all came crashing down. We had been chasing down leads left, right, and center about the dead bodies. But, this was the Irish mob, and the mob is the mob, so no one was talking. I admit, I wasn't paying as close attention to the murders as I should have. I was too wrapped up in myself and Ben, our whirlwind romance that I convinced myself would never end. I was an idiot."

"Finally, we caught a break. I had charmed my way into speaking with the head of the mob—before I started working for the FBI, I took two years to find myself of sorts and backpacked all around the world, and one of those places I visited was Ireland. I actually stopped at village where he was from—Kilmallock. I've been good at picking up languages since I was a kid, and while rusty, my Gaelic was pretty decent. I established a relationship with him, at which point he confided in me that he suspected one of his own to be at least partly responsible for the murders—one of his lieutenants, Colin McHugh. I told Schwimmer the intel I had learned, and the techs started scouring for any possible leads we could glean on McHugh."

"And we got lucky again. McHugh had a gambling problem, a major one, one he kept from everyone he knew, including the rest of the mafia. He was out hundreds of thousands of dollars and needed extra cash. Before he came to America, he used to be a member of the IRA, and was a professionally trained sniper. He decided to put his talents to good use and start selling contracts to the highest bidder. That bidder happened to be an extremely dangerous faction of Armenians, terrorists that were planning an attack on the U.S. and they were using McHugh to carry out the first step of their plans."

"We caught and arrested McHugh, and we decided we would stay one last night before heading back to D.C. McHugh would stay in my room at the hotel with Schwimmer next door. We were about to wrap up the case when the shit the proverbial fan. And then some. Ben had been asking me questions about our case, but I had been too oblivious. I thought he was simply interested in learning more about me and what I did at work. And then I walked in on him trying to look through my files in the hotel. He tried to play it off, but it was just… I knew something was wrong. He was lying to me. And then McHugh got one look at him and recognized him right off the bat. Blurted out everything—Ben was CIA, and was trying to flip him to get to the Armenians. He had lied about everything."

"I kicked Ben the hell out of my room and nearly kicked his ass—I think the only thing that saved me from actually murdering him was the fact that I hadn't told him anything important about the case or let him near any information. My whole world felt like it had imploded, but I still had to do my job. We had to take McHugh back to D.C. As much as I might have wanted to, I had to work. There was no time to mope or fall into a depression. We got back to D.C., worked through the paperwork, and I tried to pretend that Ben never happened."

"Yeah. That lasted exactly four nights. That was how long it took for the Armenians to come to town. You see, there were Armenians already set up here, feeding information back to their leaders. They knew what happened to McHugh, and they knew who Ben Mercer was. They had tracked Ben, McHugh, and all the Feds that were involved in the case. Including me. On the fourth night I was home, they broke in. Three of them, heavily armed with AK-47s and smoke bombs. They were planning on kidnapping me and using me as a bargaining chip for both the FBI and Ben. I actually got a couple good shots in—killed one of them and injured the other—and it got me enough time to call in the cavalry. Just as the FBI swarmed in, I was shot. In the end, I was pretty lucky—the bullet grazed my side."

"I was in the hospital for a couple days, was out of work for a week and then put it for another two weeks of vacation. And then I started to put my life back together. And I've been doing that for the last two years."

Annie let out a soft breath. She was sitting in Joan's office, along with the rest of this haphazardly titled team. She continued to stare down at her hands, as she had the entire span of her speech. Everyone was quiet—Joan had already heard the speech, Schwimmer was aware of the pertinent details, and Rossabi had a hazy idea from being the one to rescue her. Auggie didn't know about any of this, and as much as she didn't want to talk about it she knew there was no arguing. If the Armenians really were back, they all needed to be aware, and part of that included knowing about the past.

There was a long pause, and then Auggie was the first one to speak up. "I honestly have never heard of Ben Mercer," he began, and then frowned. "But that doesn't mean he didn't use a false identity. I can ask around—the guy I was with at the crime scene yesterday, Jai Wilcox, he might know who Mercer is. If not, I can look him up. Or talk to Arthur Campbell. If anyone was aware of an agent like him, he would be the one to ask."

Annie involuntarily glanced up at Joan—well, Campbell was a common last name. The older woman's face didn't flicker for a second—she was truly amazing—even as she nodded once. "Good," she said. "I would appreciate any information you could get us, Anderson. If we can figure out more about this Mercer person we might be able to glean something more about the Armenians and get ahead of them before they do any more damage."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Rossabi said, leaning back in his chair with a smile. "Let's go kick some Armenian ass."

Even Annie had to smile a little at that.

$4$

I know this was obviously very dialogue-heavy, but I don't ever write in first-person (and I'm anal enough that once I start writing in third person, I can't just switch willy-nilly because I'd lose my mind).

What do you guys think?


	9. The Problem

This chapter's kind of choppy in comparison to everything else, but… well, you'll see why.

$4$

_Talkin' bout the dream like the dream is over  
>Talk like that won't get you nowhere<br>Everybody's trustin' in your heart like your heart don't lie_

- "All I Need," by Matchbox Twenty

* * *

><p>After they left Joan's office, Annie headed back to her paperwork. There was enough to keep her busy for the rest of the day. Well, it would have, if it she hadn't been fidgeting.<p>

Auggie left right after the meeting was over. Joan had called him a cab and she assumed he was headed back to Langley. He was, but about an hour before work ended, he was back, and headed straight for Joan's office once more. She didn't say anything—didn't ask him any questions about Ben or the Armenians, even though she was dying to—and halfheartedly attempted to complete her paperwork. It didn't really work.

Right as she was packing up to head home, Auggie exited Joan's office, walking out with just as much calm and confidence as he'd walked in. Before he passed her desk, he asked casually, "Walker, you going to Allen's tonight?"

Annie stopped packing her files and laptop away to eye him suspiciously. "No," she said slowly, narrowing her chocolate colored eyes. How had he known this was her desk? "Why?"

"I was planning on going to Allen's, and I wanted to know if you were going," he explained, a smirk flitting across his handsome face. "What, were you expecting ulterior motives? I promise I'm not going to hand you over to Arthur Campbell on a silver platter."

She frowned a little but it didn't have the proper anger. She was too tired to angry with him, anyway. Closing her bag and standing up, she eyed him curiously. "How did you know this was my desk, anyway?"

"Jo Malone," he answered simply, and for a second she was so busy staring at him like he lost his mind to remember the significance of those two words.

"You recognized… my perfume?" she asked, torn between horrified and weirdly flattered. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Or was it… _what?_

"The nose," he said, tapping the left side of his nose with his free hand. "Comes with the territory. The only minor upside of everything since the accident. Well, that and the amazing sense of hearing."

"So you're like… a Saint Bernard?" Annie wrinkled her nose as she began walking out of the bullpen. He fell into perfect step with her, and she stayed close to him, her arm brushing his. He took the incentive and took hold over her arm, right above the elbow like before. She didn't remember specifically saying she would go with him to the Tavern, but somehow they were walking together like it was perfectly natural.

"Well, if you mean I'm cute and dependable and ply you with booze, sure, I'm like a Saint Bernard," he quipped, and as much as she wanted to continue resenting him she had to laugh.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Cujo, but if you want to make yourself feel better…" She shrugged, grinning widely.

"You wound me, Annie."

* * *

><p>The drive to the Tavern was impressively normal. They talked and joked around like they had been doing it for their entire lives. He even made a few cracks about the FBI and she responded with some remarks of her own about the CIA. Maybe, when everything was over, they could do this more often—hang out, drink, be friends. She didn't have many friends. She still didn't trust him, but that didn't mean there was anything wrong with going out and getting drinks with the man.<p>

When they walked into the bar, Annie was stunned to see several women stop and say hello to Auggie as they passed by. She hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary yesterday, but then she was so preoccupied with Caitlyn and Stu and the CIA to notice his apparent way with the ladies.

In fact, by the time they reached the bar, Annie was laughing to herself, a bemused smile on her face. "What?" Auggie said, grinning way too charmingly. "Ladies love the blind guy."

As she slid into the nearest stool, she glanced back at the crowd. Several of the women in the bar—pretty women—were still checking him out. Had she inadvertently walked into the Twilight Zone or something? "You're a manwhore," she announced with mild amazement.

"What?"

"You heard me. You're a manwhore!" she repeated, laughing to herself. She wasn't exactly talking quietly and she noticed a few women near them were sniggering. She flagged down the bartender. "I can't believe it."

"I—I am not a manwhore," he replied. Considering, he was taking her bluntness fairly well, laughing along with her—well, probably at her, but close enough.

Annie grinned wider. "I think you are," she told him, and asked the bartender for a beer.

Auggie ordered a shot of Patrón. "You're not very nice, Walker," he pointed out after the bartender walked away. "I am not a manwhore. I'm friendly."

"Oh, I'm sure you're just a regular good time guy," Annie drawled, smiling gratefully at the bartender as he set her mug down in front of her. She smirked as she took a sip of her beer. There. That felt a little better.

"You're not very nice," he told her, but there was that infectious grin on his face again as he swallowed the shot of tequila smoothly and ordered a beer of his own from the bartender. "But I admit, I like this side of you. I expected you to spend the whole night grilling me about what I had to say to Joan regarding Ben Mercer."

Annie pursed her lips at the name and carefully considered her response. "I considered asking you about it," she said. "But then I thought it over and realized I had already talked enough about my crappiest ex-boyfriend way too much today. So I figured the best solution would just be to go out and get drinks with you like a normal person."

Auggie smiled back at her. Maybe this really could be a normal friendship. Just, you know, provided neither one of them talked about their jobs.

"He doesn't technically work for the CIA anymore."

She looked at him sharply. "Aug, you don't have to tell me—"

"Jai was his handler," Auggie continued gently. "He didn't know everything, but he had a general idea of what was going on. After what happened with you and the Armenians, Ben Mercer went off the grid. Completely AWOL. No one's heard from him since then, though my guys scrounged up some intel that he was last spotted about a month ago in Caracas."

She cocked her head thoughtfully. Ben dropped off the radar after she found his true identity. Interesting.

Putting her hand over his, she squeezing it gently. "Thanks, Auggie," she said sincerely. Going on pure instinct, she leaned over and kissed him chastely. However, when he responded immediately in kind, she lingered longer than what was acceptable, something familiar and exciting zinging down her spine. She pulled back, wondering what the hell had come over her these past two days.

So much for that whole being just friends with Auggie thing.

$4$

Yeah. :D

I gotta say, one of the funnest (yes, I just said funnest, roll with it) parts about writing this wacky AU fic has to be stealing lines from past episodes and working it into my story, particularly lines like the Saint Bernard thing. Makes me feel like, if this was another universe, maybe it could work out the way my brain sees it. (But remember, your favorite writer is also cuckoo for cocoa puffs…)

The end is nigh, people! There should be about 5 chapters to go after this one. But before we get to the action/adventure, there may be some fun happening in the next chapter… just saying. ;)


	10. The Message

I figured I might as well post this a little earlier that usual. You guys earned it.

After so much background information, plot building, and various other mental mayhem, I think we all deserve a little extra gratification. :D

$4$

_You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde  
>In a centerfold, the girl next door<br>And I would open the door and I'd be all wet  
>With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt<br>That I'm wearing and you would open the door  
>And tie me up to the bed<em>

- "Feelin' Love," by Paula Cole (Sexiest. Song. Ever.)

* * *

><p>Like the night before, the rest of their time at Allen's passed by without a hitch. They didn't discuss that weird kiss at the beginning of the night, but they did talk about almost everything else. Her sister, Danielle; his <em>four <em>older brothers and baby sister; his time in the Army and Special Forces; her time as an Army brat; the bomb in Tikrit that took his sight; the crazy places she visited backpacking all around the world.

When they wandered back to her car, it was almost too natural—if a little embarrassing—to ask him if he wanted to go to her apartment. She felt slightly gratified when he grinned and said yes.

She didn't know what she was expecting. That was what she told herself on the ride back to her apartment, as they continued to talk comfortably during the ten minute drive. In fact, she had completely deluded herself of this—until Auggie cupped the side of her face, leaned down, and kissed her.

Annie's eyebrows shot up. His kiss was gentle, no pressure. If she wanted to pull away at any point he would let her. But she didn't want to pull away. With more force than probably necessary, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulled him closer and fumbled the apartment door open.

They stumbled into her apartment, Annie tossing her purse and keys on the small table and kicking the door shut. Auggie knew how to kiss, as illustrated by the way he took effortless control, diving his hand in her hair and knocking her clip to the floor with a clatter. His free hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She inhaled sharply when he licked her bottom lip, asking for permission.

She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, trying to keep up with him as he thoroughly explored the inside of her mouth. He did the same, and she dumped their jackets into a pile by their feet. The hand around her waist was tracing careful patterns at the small of her back, sending little jolts of pleasure to shoot from head to toe.

She let out an appreciative hum in the back of her throat as she nudged him further down the hallway divesting him of his soft grey grandpa sweater—and made a mental note to tease him about the grandpa sweater later. He seemed content enough to let her lead him into her apartment, licking the roof of her mouth and making her gasp.

They were so wrapped up in each other she didn't notice that they took the turn into her living room until his shoulder clipped the wall and they nearly tripped over her table and lamp. They broke the kiss with a laugh and Auggie quipped, "The blind leading the blind, huh?"

Annie laughed louder and carefully maneuvered him around her coffee table. When he tried to continue their actions, she ducked him, pressing openmouthed kisses along the long, strong line of his neck. He groaned and she laughed throatily in his ear, nipping the skin just under his jaw and leaving a slight mark.

He pushed her up against the nearest wall, and she smirked into his skin as he tugged and successfully pulled her turtleneck free from her skirt. She reciprocated, unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as her trembling fingers would allow. She jumped when his hot hands slid up her back, and pinched his side when he chuckled at her reaction.

She didn't miss the way he paused when his questing fingers stumbled over that patch of raised tissue imbedded in the nip of her waist, but she ignored the different kind of warmth that settled in her chest at the small reaction. Instead, she opted for licking that spot under his ear that made him shudder and forget all about her scar.

She shoved his shirt off his shoulders, letting him pull her away from his throat and kiss her urgently. He was in impressively good shape as she walked her fingertips up the ridges of muscle that made his stomach, abs, sides, cataloguing as much as she could as quickly as possible. He told her about his time as a soldier, and she was impressed and appreciative that he was maintaining what had to be a killer workout routine.

When her fingernail scraped the side of his bellybutton, he growled low and forgot his quest to divest her of her shirt, sliding his hands past her ass and smoothly picking her up and pinning her neatly between him and the wall.

She grinned widely at his actions, wrapping her arms and legs more securely around his body. She stopped when she caught sight of the mark on his back that stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Laughing breathlessly, she asked, "You have a tattoo?"

He laughed along with her. "I told you I was in Special Forces," he replied, and it took all she had not to shiver at the delicious, gravelly tone.

"Special Forces does not always equal tattoos, last I'd checked," she drawled, tracing what could see of his tattoo with her fingernail.

"What? You don't like it?" Auggie asked teasingly, leaning over and pressing a kiss right underneath her ear.

Annie chuckled throatily in his own ear in response, and replied, "Oh, I don't think I need to inflate your ego any further than I already have, manwhore."

His hand slipped up her sweater once more as his lips and teeth continued to do blissful things to her mouth and neck. "I told you that wasn't nice, Annie," he said, giving her side a heady squeeze.

As he continued to kiss his way down her throat, the phone rang. He paused for a second, at which point Annie hastily shook her head. "Ignore it," she mumbled, half-whimpering as he found a particularly sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "It's my sister, Dani. She left a couple messages yesterday and I forgot to call her back."

His tongue traced her collarbone and for a second she forgot how to breathe. "You don't happen to have a bed around here, do you?" he asked, nuzzling her neck affectionately, as his fingers wandered up her sides, lighting a fire under her skin as he stopped traversing right before her bra started. "Unless you wanna keep this here. That works. I'm flexible."

The implication made her body tingle appreciatively, but she managed a laugh, twisting her neck and kissing the side of his face. "Oh, I'm sure you—"

"Annie? Annie, it's me. Are you there?"

Her whole body froze. Auggie stopped laughing abruptly, pulling back to stare unseeingly first in the direction of the answering machine by the TV and the back at her face. "Annie, what—?" he cut off, cupping the side of her face with his free hand.

"This is the third time I'm calling. Annie, I know you hate me. But you have to talk to me."

How did he get her phone number? The second she got back from the hospital, she changed her home phone number, got a new cell phone.

"This is important, Annie. The men—the men that tried to hurt you. They're planning something big. Three days ago I found extremely important information that I could use to take them down—but then they killed Taya. He wasn't working for them, he was—"

Distantly, she realized Auggie was setting her back on the ground but she was staring too intently at the answering machine to notice.

"Listen, it doesn't matter. I have the proof I need to catch the Armenians, I just need to get it to the right people. There's this guy I used to work with—he used to be my handler of sorts. I think I can still trust him. Once I give him the information, the CIA can go through and take down Seropian—he's the leader of the—it doesn't matter. I don't want to put you in any further danger. Listen, I…"

There was a heavy crackle, the sound of him sighing severely over the phone.

"I still love you, Annie. I want you to be safe. Please call me back."

The answering machine went dead. The air in the room was thick with tension, a completely different tension than had been there moments before.

"Ben."

That wasn't a question. It was a statement. There was no use arguing or lying to Auggie.

"Yes," Annie said softly, pursing her bruised lips. "Listen, Auggie—"

"Don't worry about it," he hastened to assure her, taking a step back. "I understand. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about it."

"No, you don't have to," she assured him. He kept backing away from her, and finally she latched onto his forearm tightly. "_Auggie_. Listen to me. Please."

He finally stopped moving, hanging his head almost imperceptibly with a heavy sigh. Other than that miniscule giveaway, his face was perfectly inscrutable. He must've been a damned good CIA agent, once upon a time.

She took his silence as a cue to go on, so she took a deep breath and began. "After… everything that happened two years ago, I resolved to move on. Pick up my life and go on as usual. But I didn't. I spent all my time holed up in the bullpen, punishing myself for ever going out in the field and causing this clusterfuck in the first place. I've been doing that for the last two years. When I say it has been fun…" she trailed off, giving her head definitive shake. "These last two days have been a giant mess. I was attacked yesterday, forced to tell my boss and some fellow Feds and a CIA agent about said clusterfuck, and then today I hooked up with the same CIA agent."

"I honestly don't know where my head is anymore, but I figured out one thing in the last 24 hours. I can't keep doing the same things I've done for the last two years. You can still totally leave—I won't blame you in the slightest. If I was in your shoes, I'd totally be running for the door, so no judging. But I do want you to know that if you leave, afterwards I'm not going to immediately call Ben back, or cry to myself or whatever. First thing tomorrow morning I'm heading straight to Joan with the answering machine tape. Ben doesn't deserve my secrecy."

She let go of his arm, letting out a soft little sigh. She glanced back at the answering machine one last time, her eyebrows knitting at the sight of that tiny, blinking red light.

"Damn. And I really thought I was getting laid tonight."

Annie let out an involuntary burble of laughter at his too-casual statement. "And who said I was that easy?" she teased him; truth be told, she thought she was getting laid tonight, too.

His only response was a wolfish smile, one that made that heat flare up in her belly once more. "You wouldn't happen to have a TV around here, would you?"

She smiled and gently nudged him around, leading him to her couch. "I do happen to have a TV. Flat screen. 50-inch. Though I can't imagine what use you would have for it."

"Hey, there's dialogue in TV shows. What, you discriminating against me because I'm blind? Sightist." When he flopped down on the couch she noticed he had never put his shirt back on, and considered pointing that out. For a second.

She kept her mouth shut and joined him on the couch, snuggling into his side. He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. This was such weird behavior, even for her, but it seemed too natural to stop. "You may not want to hear this, but you're not the only one with some crazy ass skeletons in your closet," he told her, burying his nose in the crown of her hair.

Annie tipped her head up slightly, wondering where he was going with this.

"Let me tell you about a woman named Natasha Petrovna…"

$4$

This was smut for smut's sake… and then the plot by the end. Because I couldn't just do a sexy scene and not at least ease my writing conscience a tad by evening it out.

I don't know if any of you noticed the line in Chapter 5 about Annie's answering machine messages… I guess they weren't all from Danielle. ;) With me, any insignificant detail can be twisted into an important plot focal point.


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